


carry you around (in the background)

by IronSwordStarShield (SweetFanfics)



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Feelings Realization, Idiots in Love, Introspective Steve Rogers, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Steve, POV Steve Rogers, post civil-war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/IronSwordStarShield
Summary: He feels like a fool for thinking that saving Tony would be that easy. Steve isn’t talking about taking Tony out of the facility, no. That had been easy as pie. The hard part is bringing Tony home to a team of specialists and being told that Tony Stark is brain dead.--Where Steve comes to terms with his feelings post-Civil War by talking to Tony, who happens to be in a coma.





	carry you around (in the background)

**Author's Note:**

> It's 12:03AM 23rd May 2019 and I'm posting this cuz I can't wait no longer!
> 
> As soon as I saw the prompts for this RBB I knew I wanted to work with this piece. I vaguely knew that I wanted to do something that was post-CW, no Hydra Cap, and Tony's return gets screwed up and he stays in a coma. And I had so much fun writing this. Being in Steve's head and trying to figure out how he'd work out his issues towards Tony + develop feelings was a great challenge and I enjoyed the heck out of writing it.
> 
> My art partner was the ever so talented Tisha. Please check out the art **[here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935872)**! [And don't forget to check out the 2nd fic inspired by Tisha's piece by the lovely Missy_dee811!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18939574)
> 
> This fic also wouldn't be possible without my two lovely beta readers, Lore & wynnesome. They're the real champs putting up with all my errors lmao

_It can’t be_ , Steve thinks, mind spinning as he tries to process what he’s seeing. _He wasn’t supposed to be here. How’d he get here?_

 

“Tony?” he whispers.

 

Behind him, Bucky sucks in a breath through his teeth. “ _Stark_? What the fuck?”

 

Steve ignores him, staggering forward, relief and guilt crash headfirst into each other in his chest. They’ve been looking everywhere for Tony. Finding him here, in the deep basement of what they’ve been told is active HYDRA lab, inside what looks like a cryogenic chamber...

 

His boot knocks against something; it skitters across the floor and bangs into the wall. It’s too much noise for the stealth reconnaissance mission they’re supposed to be on.

 

“Steve!” Bucky hisses. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

He walks up to the large tube filled with an opalescent liquid. It’s taller than he is, broader too. Steve raises his hand and presses it against the glass. It’s too cold; it stings his fingertips. Steve wouldn’t have thought it given the serene expression on Tony’s face. Maybe Tony’s bodysuit is regulating his temperature?

 

His eyes sweep over the tube. It doesn’t look like there’s any seam or opening of any kind. If he wants to get Tony out, Steve’s going to have to break the glass. One punch using his shield and it should break the glass—.

 

A hand around his bicep jerks him away. With a flash of anger, Steve turns around, ready to snarl, but the sudden transformation of Bucky’s frustrated expression makes him freeze.

 

“You...” Bucky makes an odd gesture towards his face. “Are you _crying_?”

 

Crying? Steve brushes the back of his hand against his cheeks and there’s a smear of water against the leather. Oh. He hadn’t realized. Pressing his lips together, Steve ignores the question and shakes his friend off, bracing himself again to smash the glass because he has to get Tony out of this tube.

 

This time, Bucky moves in front of him. He ignores the wan figure trapped behind him and insists, “You’re smarter than this, Steve! Not only are we not supposed to be here, but if we break Stark out? Every HYDRA agent on this base is gonna be on our asses.”

 

“We can’t just leave him here!” Steve argues back. “Who knows what they’re going to do to him in this place! Or _why_ they grabbed him in the first place!”

 

Bucky scowls angrily back, muttering angry curses under his breath, clearly frustrated with this whole situation. Steve gets it.  _He does_! They’ve been tracking Red Skull for months now. It’s a delicate trap that they’ve been weaving and they can’t afford to go off mission and risk tipping off Red Skull.

 

But...

 

“They told me you’ve got a soft spot a mile wide for him. I didn’t think-” Bucky stops himself, takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a tight exhale. “Fine. If you want to take him out, we gotta be smart about it. Make sure we don’t trip any damn alarms.”

 

Someone up there, whoever’s watching and pulling the strings, has a crappy sense of humor, because the rest of Bucky’s strategizing is drowned out by the sound of shrill warning sirens. Steve grins as he raises his shield again, and slams it as hard as he can into the glass.

 

Bucky gestures angrily at the alarms and yells, “ _Seriously?_ ”

 

\--

 

How does he feel about his own return?

 

It’s complicated.

 

Is he grateful for another chance at life? At making amends? Yes. But he had also made peace with what happened to him within seconds of being shot. He’d forgiven Sharon in the space between heartbeats. He’d accepted his fate.

 

So when he’d woken up again...

 

Like he said, complicated. And it’s only gotten messier, the more he’s learned about what’s happened since he died.

 

His funeral and Tony’s ‘eulogy’, President Osborn, the vicious beating Tony had taken, and then his disappearance. Getting his head smashed in had been the last time anyone had ‘seen’ Tony Stark, alive or dead. Osborn refused to tell them where he’d stashed Tony even after being arrested, mockingly comparing his knowledge of Tony’s whereabouts to Tony having kept the sole copy of the SHRA in his head.

 

Naturally Steve’s been worried about Tony and where Osborn was keeping him. But mostly? Steve is  _so_ angry at Tony - how dare he do the things he’s done for “the greater good”? Frustration churns in his stomach at being here again, cleaning up yet another Stark mess - but so does guilt, when he thinks of how if he’d been less stubborn, then maybe so much tragedy could have been avoided.

 

Questions gnaw at his stomach, keeping him awake; would this mess have happened if he’d still been alive? If he hadn’t put that EMP in Tony’s hand? If he hadn’t walked away from their argument in the mansion? At what point had Tony stopped trusting him? Had it been something he’d done? When did he stop being one of Tony’s confidants?

 

The desire to have Tony back stems from guilt as much as anger - he wants to shake the man and demand answers. Hold him accountable. Surely Tony of all people would appreciate that sentiment. (And he misses him. God, he  _misses_ his friend, his partner, his Shellhead.)

 

But as the days pass, as more missions take priority, as the leads dwindle, he thinks of Tony less. There are still nights where he can’t sleep. He lies in bed and wonders: could Norman be lying about keeping Tony alive in one of his facilities for no other purpose than a trophy? If Tony were alive, he’d have escaped already, or sent some signal, some sign, _something_.

 

But there’s been nothing.

 

_So maybe..._

 

Steve can’t bring himself to finish that thought.

 

\--

 

Fucking figures Tony’s still making his life miserable without even being here.

 

\--

 

Widow looks murderous when they catch up to her. There’s a long lecture in store for him and Bucky when they get back but it obviously gets pushed aside when she sees who he’s holding in his arms. “Is that...?”

 

“Yeah, it’s Tony.” Steve hefts Tony higher in his arms easily, gelatinous liquid dripping down Tony’s limp body and onto the floor and his boots. Fuck. He’s never weighed a lot, but Tony feels much too light.

 

“Where’d you find him?”

 

“In a test tube downstairs. Can we discuss the details later?” Bucky complains, herding them both towards the exit. “We need to get the fuck off this base.”

 

There’s a startled moment when they skid to a halt in front of an incoming group of yellow-clad beehive keepers. Bucky turns to Natasha with a puzzled frown. “I thought you said this was supposed to be HYDRA.”

 

“That’s what my intel said.”

 

“And yet,” he gestures with his right hand at the AIM goons even as he pulls a gun out of his holster.

 

“They could be working together. Won’t be the first time villains have teamed up.”

 

Steve looks around, wondering where can he put Tony down, when he hears Natasha and Bucky pull the safeties off their guns. He’s dropped to one knee and is about to prop Tony against the wall when Bucky says, “Don’t bother. We’ll clear the way, you get him to the jet.”

 

\--

 

He feels like a fool for thinking that saving Tony would be that easy. Steve isn’t talking about taking Tony out of the facility, no. That had been easy as pie. The hard part is bringing Tony home to a team of specialists and being told that Tony Stark is brain dead.

 

Comparatively easier was finding how Tony had wound up on the HYDRA facility: Osborn had handed Tony over to them in return for repairing the damage to Tony’s brain and extracting the SHRA active superhero list. “A simple business agreement,” is how Osborn had described it, happy to talk since Tony was no longer in HYDRA’s custody.)

 

“There’s _nothing_ there,” Beast tells him in the gentlest of tones. “As you can see from the EEG, there’s no brain activity.”

 

“But... Extremis. Maybe because of that, his brain activity needs to be checked in another way?” Steve can’t help but turn to Reed as he says this. If there’s anyone who can solve this, it’s got to be Reed, right?

 

But Reed’s shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Steve. There’s nothing I can do.”

 

Steve thought he was ready for either possibility when it came to Tony. Turns out, he isn’t.

 

\--

 

And then he finds that he can help resurrect Tony. They stumble upon a file buried deep in Tony’s personal server with details for what is basically a hard reboot of Tony’s system. If that’s what Steve and a few select others want to do.

 

His feelings towards Tony have been nebulous at best even when they _hadn’t_ been on opposite sides of an argument. So finding out that Tony has placed his resurrection in the hands of the very people he drove towards hating him? Steve doesn’t know how to feel. Fuel to the fire is Reed’s confession that a lot of their choices were made because they were the lesser of two evils. “Tony at least, was willing to be branded a monster. Especially if it meant preventing the worst possible outcomes of the war.”

 

He stands next to Tony’s bedside and trembles with the force of his rage. Steve wants to punch the man.

 

“Who the hell do you think you  _are_?” Steve asks Tony. “Where do you get off?”

 

The machines beep steadily back at him.

 

His anger bursts out. Steve yells and demands answers from a stoic Tony. A defenseless Tony who just lies there and takes it all (it’s not the first time they’ve been in this situation but it’s certainly the first time Tony’s been completely unable to defend himself). Worst of all? No one comes to stop him. Steve knows that this room is monitored 24/7. And right now, Maria Hill is watching as well. But no one runs in to stop him when he shakes Tony’s bed, when he yells hopelessly at a dead man.

 

His inability to control his temper makes him sick that night. He throws up his dinner, panting into the toilet bowl as he struggles to collect himself. As he struggles to come to terms with the fact that Tony played him like a fiddle. That despite everything that they’ve put each other through, Tony never stopped trusting him. 

 

Steve can’t believe that Tony would trust him and Thor to revive him. It’s too much for his guilt-ridden conscience to bear. And maybe that’s the thing. Maybe Tony had believed that they wouldn’t. Maybe Tony had thought that their hate would trump their history and they’d leave him dead.

 

For a genius, Tony sure does underestimate his friends sometimes.

 

( _But maybe he had good reasons to believe that,_ a dark voice whispers from the depths of Steve’s mind.)

 

Then again, Steve reminds himself, Tony hadn’t believed he’d have any friends left at the end of grand plan.

 

( _We put Tony on the path of not trusting us. Remember how we accused him in the mansion? How quick we’ve been to bring up his alcoholism? How we used that EMP? We made sure that it was easy for Tony to stop trusting us._ )

 

\--

 

When their attempt to wake Tony fails, Steve resolves not to return to that small, sterile room. He walks out as fast as he can, rushing towards the nearest bathroom to puke his gut out. Hope turns sour, regret gnaws at his bones all day: he is unwilling to forgive himself for having lost a dear friend before they could reconcile.

 

( _t’s my fault. If only I hadn’t been so stubborn. If only he’d listened. If only I hadn’t used that EMP. If only he’d trusted me._ )

 

Tony Stark is gone and he needs to accept that.

 

\--

 

For twenty three days, he doesn’t set foot in Tony’s room in Oklahoma.

 

\--

 

On day twenty four, on the wrong end of a tough mission gone wrong, he falls onto old habits - dark humor.

 

All the agents on the plane give him a stink-eye, and Steve has never missed Tony so _keenly_. Before he realizes it, Steve finds himself in Oklahoma. He doesn’t even think about it. He just zones back in to find himself in Tony’s private care room. The whole time, a single thought echos in his head - Tony’ll get it. Tony’ll understand. Tony’ll even snark back because this is one of their things.

 

There’re no words to express the depth of his disappointment when he gets silence back in reply. Tony lies on his bed, pale and thin. His arresting blue eyes don’t sparkle with humor. A vicious grin doesn’t turn his lips up in one corner. His voice isn’t husky when he quips back, “Serving justice trumps a sucking chest wound, Winghead.”

 

It’s a haunting without a visible specter.

 

But it’s better than nothing.

 

\--

 

If he tries hard enough, he can convince himself that Tony is simply sleeping. He’ll wake up soon. One day.

 

\--

 

“What’s eating you?” Sam asks.

 

With an annoyed grunt, Steve pulls the root beer off his lips and swallows.

 

“And don’t tell me it’s work—”

 

“—It’s work,” Steve says over him, ignoring the annoyed glare Sam shoots his way. He sifts through the basket of onion rings and pulls one out from the bottom.

 

As he chews, Sam points a fry his way. “That’s a lie and we both know it. Come on, Steve. Let’s make this easy for both of us. Just tell me what’s wrong. How can I help?”

 

Steve’s weighing the costs and benefits of telling his friend what’s got him in this funk when Sam asks, in a lower, sympathetic voice, “Is it Sharon? I heard you guys were having trouble.”

 

Trouble.  _That’s_ a nice way to describe all the arguments and fights. Appetite disappearing, Steve shakes his head and mutters, “We broke up. There’s no way to have a relationship when I’m leading a black ops team and she’s trying to help get SHIELD back up on its feet again.”

 

“You don’t sound that torn up about it,” Sam says.

 

Steve can’t help but shrug, shoulders rising and falling heavily. “We’ve been down this road a couple of times before. And it’s not like she’s wrong. We were barely spending any time together.”

 

There’s also the fact that he refuses to tell her about the nightmares that’ve had him tossing and turning since he’d seen what Tony had put himself through. Steve doesn’t because he isn’t sure what to tell her. And he knows what she’ll say. It wasn’t his fault. Tony’s a grown man and Steve isn’t responsible for his choices.

 

He knows this.

 

He _knows_ this, dammit.

 

But that doesn’t stop his nightmares from exploring the what-ifs. Where he goes further than leaving an EMP in Tony’s hand. Where he brings his shield down on Tony’s neck. Where he tells Beast to pull the plug.

 

All the ways he almost killed Tony, except that in his nightmares, there’s no almost about it.

 

He should have told her but he hadn’t wanted to. He’s not sure what that says about him, especially since he used to be able to talk to her, to tell her what was bothering him. But he’s sure he’ll be able to tell her later. Once he’s over it all.

 

Besides, this is hardly a new for him and Sharon; he’s sure they’ll find their way back to each other. They have before after all.

 

\--

 

“I don’t think we can go back to how we were, Steve.”

 

Shock sweeps through him. Numbness creeps down his arm and into his fingertips as he rasps, “Why not? We... We have before.”

 

“It’s not the same,” Sharon tells him, crossing her arms defensively as she continues to stare out at the quinjet that’s being refueled..

 

“How? How is it not...” Steve stops and changes gears when something occurs to him. “Is it because I’m America’s top cop? Because this isn’t permanent. Once SHIELD is back up, I’ll go back to being Captain America. I’ll have more time to-”

 

Sharon shakes her head, blonde ponytail swaying. “That’s not it.”

 

“Is it the shooting thing? I told you, I forgive you. I forgave you as s-”

 

Her cutting gaze makes him falter halfway through his sentence. The silence that hangs between them is painful. Uncertainty must pour off him in waves, because Sharon takes pity on him, shoulders relaxing with a breath before she says, “That’s not it either. It’s… It’s that you don’t trust me anymore.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Really?” he feels pinned down by her sharp gaze. “What do you dream about, Steve? What’s your new nightmare?”

 

The question sends his heart racing in panic.

 

“It’s... they’re…nothing new. Same as always.”

 

Why does she look so disappointed in him?

 

It can’t be that she knows what he dreams about on those dark nights, does she?

 

She looks away, body taut as a string when she murmurs, “Sorry. That was unfair of me.”

 

No… no, it wasn’t. He shakes his head but he can’t get the words out. They don’t say  _anything_ to each other while the refueling of the jet is finishing. It’s only when Natasha waves her hand over her head to get his attention and he starts to move that Sharon breaks the silence.

 

“Steve?”

 

He turns immediately, choking on hope.

 

“Whatever happened to Tony? It wasn’t your fault. Never was.”

 

His strength seems to just pour out of him. Sharon steps forward to gently touch his face. There’s so much sadness in her eyes. It twists his insides into knots. But no apology can save this, them.

 

“Every nightmare you’ve had since we tried again? It’s been about him. I don’t know what you saw but I’ve heard enough to know that you blame yourself for what happened to him. You shouldn’t. He wouldn’t want that.”

 

Guilt wires his jaw shut and closes his throat.

 

Thankfully, Sharon’s gaze gentles before she steps away. “You should go. The rest of the team is waiting.”

 

\--

 

It’s so easy to sit there next to Tony’s bedside and mutter, with great resentment, “You’re not even here and you’re fucking with my mind.”

 

It’s mean and unfair and Steve hates himself for saying it as soon as it’s out there.

 

Thankfully, Tony doesn’t hear it.

 

\--

 

Eventually, too soon and not soon enough, things start slowing down.

 

Steve finally has a day where there’s no paperwork to complete, no one to train, and generally nothing to do. He sits in his apartment, blankly staring out the window, wondering what the hell he should do. In the days that follow, Steve deep cleans his apartment. He rides that wave and moves onto decluttering his wardrobe, where he uncovers some carefully stashed cardboard boxes.

 

Steve winds up sitting on his bedroom floor, poring over photographs and sketches of simpler, happier times. Melancholic, he traces the shapes of smiles and wonders, _how did things go so wrong?_ The surprising realization is the number of sketchbooks tucked away with Steve’s name on the cover in Jarvis’ neat handwriting. Steve lingers over his sketches of the old team; Wanda, Janet, and Hank.

 

He exhales a soft laugh when he comes across a picture of him and Tony tucked away inside an old copy of _Dune_. It’s a Polaroid. They’re standing with their arms thrown around each other's confetti-dusted shoulders, grinning merrily. In the back, you can see the tail end of a “Happy New Year” banner, but there’s no telling what year it is.

 

They’d been so happy then. Steve wants this again. He wants his best friend back. He wants Tony’s trust as much as he wants to trust Tony with no hesitation. He misses Tony’s stupid passwords, his generosity, his ulcer-inducing coffee.

 

He misses Tony so much that he goes to see him again. To tell him, “I miss you. I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone this much when they’re not dead. But I do. Every time my phone rings and I see it’s Reed, I hope...there’s this moment where I _hope so bad_ that he’ll tell me you’ve woken up.”

 

The admission, once made, lightens his burden.

 

Why he’d denied himself this admission till now, Steve’s not sure. Yes, he’s still mad at Tony but... _God_ , he misses him so much. Steve’s fingers itch with the desire to reach out and touch Tony. With a start, he realizes he can.

 

His heart begins to race at the thought. It feels like trying to sneak a cookie out of the cookie jar before meal time. He holds his breath when his fingers wrap around Tony’s wrist, and immediately frowns. Were Tony’s wrists always so delicate? So...  _thin_?

 

Steve looks at Tony. _Really_ looks at him.

 

Tony looks, for the lack of a better word, gaunt. It reminds him of the time when Tony was deep at the bottom of a bottle and Steve had pulled him out of a burning building. His past admonishments of  a drunk Tony make his stomach twist itself into knots.

 

How many times has he been so carelessly callous towards Tony? Unintentionally malicious?

 

Steve doesn’t know.

 

Maybe that’s why Tony started to pull back.

 

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Steve squeezes Tony’s thin wrist and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

 

\--

 

When Sharon called him and asked to meet up, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little smug, a little relieved, and a little nervous.

 

Maybe she’d changed her mind.

 

Maybe she wanted to try again.

 

The last thing he’d expected was for her to slip a small USB stick into his hand with an unreadable look, and instruct him to delete its contents from existence after he’d viewed them.

 

He looks at the unassuming device and wonders aloud, “What’s on here?”

 

“Something Tony would never want getting out.”

 

Head snapping up, Steve’s tone sharpens. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’ll get it when you see it. And before you ask, this is the only copy that exists anymore. I found it hidden deep inside SHIELD’s security files. It’s possible someone was going to use it against Tony at some point, but we don’t know.”

 

“Why give it to me? Why not just... delete it.”

 

There’s an unreadable expression in Sharon’s eyes that Steve wants to call pity but it’s more than that. Deeper and more profound.

 

“You deserve to hear it after everything that happened.”

 

What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?

 

\--

 

Steve sits in horrified silence as he watches Tony confess his regret to Steve’s corpse.

 

He has never felt so small.

 

\--

 

He deletes the video and smashes up the USB. But Tony’s whispered confession lingers.

 

Steve lies in bed, squeezes his eyes shut, and tells himself the burning sensation in his eyes is an allergic reaction to the new fabric softener he got, not tears.

 

\--

 

He can’t help but wonder why he thought, or when he’d started to believe, that Tony stopped caring for him when clearly, Tony had never stopped.

 

How’d that happen?

 

\--

 

Rhodey’s reading to Tony the next time he visits. It feels like an intrusion, especially after the cool look Rhodey gives him. But he doesn’t tell Steve to leave so maybe it’s okay? It feels like he’s walking on eggshells these days. It’s exhausting.

 

While Rhodey reads, Steve keeps his eyes on the EEG machine in the hopes of seeing something out of the ordinary.

 

Not even a blip.

 

Steve leans back in his chair, letting disappointment pull him down with its gravity. He smiles faintly when he realizes that Rhodey is doing voices as he goes through the story. It’s some kind of a mystery-thriller.

 

“What is that?” Steve finally asks because he thinks he’d like to try read it from the start. He gestures at the book in Rhodey’s hand when he looks up.

 

With a pained smile, Rhodey shows him the cover. _Digital Fortress_ by Dan Brown.

 

“Tony hates this book. He hates Dan Brown in general but he _really_ hates this book. The technology parts piss him off.” Rhodey exhales slowly, expression crumpling as it turns to Tony. “I thought...”

 

He doesn’t complete his sentence.

 

He doesn’t have to.

 

\--

 

Rhodey’s actions also spark inspiration in Steve.

 

The next time he visits, Steve brings a bag with him. The nurse Jarvis hired to look after Tony watches him putter around the room, putting things away in different corners as he tries to make it less of a recovery room and more homey.

 

Steve puts a small stack of books next to Tony’s bedside table, some of his beloved favorites. He fluffs up a bouquet of flowers. He drapes a cozy afghan over the end of Tony’s bed. He opens Tony’s shaving kit and asks the nurse to bring some hot water.

 

Steve chickens out as soon as he brings the basin over and meekly asks him to clean Tony’s face, please. The nurse shoots him an unimpressed look but doesn’t say a word.

 

\--

 

Steve wants to kick himself when he looks up from his book, too late to stop  _everything_  being shaved off Tony’s face.

 

\--

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a wince once the nurse leaves the room.

 

The ghost in his head sighs and scrubs a hand against his bare face. Tony would absolutely make some kind of disparaging comment about this, but Steve’s not sure what he’d say.

 

That hurts.

 

\--

 

“I can barely recognize you all clean shaven,” Steve muses, frowning a little as he digs deep into his memory. “It makes you look a couple of years younger. Kind of baby-faced, actually. I guess that’s why you kept the facial hair, huh?”

 

\--

 

“I can see why you hate this guy,” Steve tells Tony as he disdainfully glares at his copy of _Inferno_.

 

\--

 

Steve’s ready to rant about how pretentious he found  _The Da Vinci Code_  as soon as he opens the door, but stops in his tracks when he sees the figure standing next to Tony’s bedside.

 

“Thor,” he greets, manners overtaking his surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

 

“Paying a long overdue visit.” The god turns to look at him. The way his assessing gaze lingers on the book in Steve’s hand and the flowers tucked under his arm makes Steve want to squirm. “It appears the rumors are true. You are a frequent visitor.”

 

The judgmental quality of Thor’s statement has Steve taking a metaphorical step back. With more defensiveness than strictly necessary, Steve says, “He’s my friend. Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“So you forgive him then? For everything he did.”

 

Steve doesn’t have a straight answer to that.

 

Mostly he doesn’t want to admit how deep his guilt goes (or his anger).

 

“It’s not that simple,” Steve hedges, stepping into the room so that he can replace the wilted bunch of wildflowers with the fresh bouquet. “I’m still mad at him.”

 

If Tony wasn’t brain dead, Steve’s not sure he’d be here. He’d probably be avoiding Tony until he was sure they could be in the same space together without him yelling at Tony for having the ego to think he knew better than everyone else. Hubris has bitten Tony in the ass numerous times over the years and he still hasn’t learned his lesson.

 

Thor sneers at the flowers. “And yet your actions speak otherwise.”

 

“I can want him to be better and still be mad at him. It’s not  _that_ strange,” Steve argues back, snakes twisting around in his belly the longer Thor stares at him. He doesn’t like feeling so defensive; it makes him lose control over his brain-to-mouth filter. “I can miss my best friend and still want to yell at him for not trusting me. Those aren’t mutually exclusive feelings.”

 

Something in Thor’s gaze shifts. It’s a keen, discerning look that makes Steve snap, “ _What_?”

 

“I don’t believe it’s only guilt that brings you back to Tony’s side.”

 

Steve feels warmth flush up his neck and pool under his cheekbones. He tends to forget that after Tony, Thor’s the oldest friend he’s got, and understands him about as well. Embarrassed, he ducks his gaze at the withered flowers and mutters, “If you say so.”

 

“I know so,” Thor says, voice gentle now. “You still love him, despite all that has happened.”

 

Steve can’t help but choke on thin air at that.

 

Thor thankfully ignores him in favor of glancing back at Tony and continuing, “Perhaps that is why our hurt lingers.”

 

\--

 

It’s not something he’s ever thought about, not even in the privacy of his own head.

 

Love isn’t the word he’d have used to describe how he felt... _feels_ towards Tony. But once Thor’s said it, it becomes the only word that rings true.

 

It’s not the romantic kind of love like he’s felt towards Sharon or even Bernie, but it’s also not the platonic love he feels towards Bucky or Sam, men he considers his brothers. The space that Tony occupies defies categorization; it is wholly unique and demands a space all its own.

 

Steve stares down into the pot of slowly boiling water and the two eggs floating inside, and sighs, a little tired but mostly fond, because that’s Tony to a T, isn’t it?

 

\--

 

Pandora’s box has been opened now.

 

Steve finds himself sitting pensively next to Tony’s sleeping body, struggling define his love towards Tony. It’s nebulous, like trying to catch sunlight in a bottle. It’s too much. Steve doesn’t have the words to encapsulate everything Tony means to him, or has meant to him over the course of his life.

 

Over ten years of friendship...you can’t have that if you don’t love the other person, right?

 

Chin resting on his palm, Steve taps a thoughtful finger against his cheek and wonders if maybe he’s asking the wrong questions. Surely the why, how, and when don’t matter. It is what it is. The thought sends a ripple of calm through him.

 

Steve lifts his gaze up to Tony’s sleeping face and murmurs, “I love you. I don’t know since when and I don’t know why. But I love you and admire you. I have for a long, long time.”

 

\--

 

One of his favorite things about knowing Tony are those moments when Tony would look at him with pride. Those moments had made Steve stand taller, feel more sure of where he stood. Steve’s tried hard to be the kind of person that Tony would be proud to call his friend.

 

“Half the problem between us is that I’m constantly scared you’ll leave me behind,” Steve confides in Tony as he stands by the window, peering out at the thunderstorm outside. “The other half is that I’m scared I’ve let you down.”

 

A huff slips out. Steve judges himself mightily for his confession, but how long has that been one of his deepest fears? That Tony would be disappointed in him? That Tony would laugh at him and say he’s never thought of Steve as a friend? That Steve was a naive old fool?

 

And here Steve is now, living in a timeline where all his worst fears have come true.

 

He sticks his hands in his pockets and mutters, “I guess I was right.”

 

\--

 

He’s slouched on the sofa one day, mindlessly channel surfing while his mind is a million miles away trying to figure out where and when his friendship with Tony went sour. Is it wrong to keep Tony alive and dependent on machines? What would Tony have wanted? Did Tony say something to anyone about his wishes for such a situation?

 

Questions swirl around in his head and the one person he wants to ask? Can’t answer.

 

\--

 

There’s an ache in his chest that’s been steadily growing. It had started when he’d woken up from a dream where he’d been at the mansion bantering with Tony. His eyes had sparkled in the morning sun, crinkling in the corners when Steve teasingly poked a spot on Tony’s face and said, “Missed a spot. I can see still some of that bruise peeking through.”

 

Tony had batted his finger away and told him, “I’ll get it properly covered up before my interview, don’t worry Mom.”

 

“All I do is worry,” Steve had sighed, draping an arm around Tony’s shoulder in an affectionate squeeze. “We’re still on for dinner, right?”

 

“I told Ravi I had a dinner appointment. So yes.”

 

“Usual place?”

 

“Absolutely.” Tony turned his head and brushed their lips together in a brief kiss. “I’ll see you then.”

 

In his dream, Steve stopped Tony from leaving by dropping his hand to Tony’s waist and pulled him back for another kiss. Close lipped but firm. A promise. A temporary goodbye.

 

He doesn’t remember what he’d said when they’d pulled apart. But the way Tony had smiled at him haunts him. His mind’s stuck on that smile. When was the last time Tony had smiled at him? Smiled  _properly_ instead of that fake smile that he broke out in front of the press?

 

He doesn’t dare think about the kiss because remembering it makes his knees go weak for some reason and Steve doesn’t feel ready to open that door. So, he ignores it for now.

 

His asshole brain decides otherwise.

 

\--

 

The dream memory of kissing Tony strikes him out of the blue a couple of times. And every time, _every time_ , it turns Steve’s knees to jelly.

 

\--

 

He relives old memories in his dreams with increasing frequency, transformed as he stands closer to Tony, touches his lower back, kisses his plush lips. He raps a knuckle against Iron Man’s face plate, grins, and kisses Tony before asking him to let him down. He kisses Tony to convince him that he’ll always be on Tony’s side. He pulls Tony back to bed and kisses his half-hearted objections away even as Steve whispers that this won’t take that long.

 

\--

 

Steve’s not sure if he loves or hates going to sleep now.

 

\--

 

It’s uncomfortable and awkward being in the same space as Tony. Steve thinks of his dreams and mourns all their missed changes; what they could have been. The retrospection leaves him feeling hollow and aching in his bones, and missing Tony’s vibrant nature.

 

Today he visits Tony because last night’s dream was of their fight. The one where Tony had told him to finish him with a final blow. He’d re-lived that ugly fight as it was. No kisses, no bantering, no sweetness. Just his dream self letting out an angry yell as he’d brought the shield down.

 

Steve had woken up with a jerk and run to the bathroom to throw up. Come morning, he’d walked into Tony’s room with his work laptop and set up shop in his usual chair. The nurse comes in at his usual time, 10am, and says in the mildest of tones, “You’re here early today.”

 

Steve shrugs but doesn’t offer an explanation.

 

He lets the man do his job, silently and discretely observing him take Tony’s vitals. Steve only looks away when the man brings out a small tub of hot water and a sponge and starts unbuttoning Tony’s shirt. Steve’s cheeks burn.

 

\--

 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t sneak a quick look when Tony’s torso is being washed.

 

\--

 

In his next dream, Tony’s slimmer, without his old muscle tone. Waif-like, Steve would like to say. This hits him as he’s washing his face the next morning and his lips purse together unhappily.

 

\--

 

Steve runs his fingers up Tony’s thin ribs, kisses them, looks up when he feels slim fingers run through his hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

Tony’s smile is soft and benevolent. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

 

\--

 

That’s how Steve knows it’s a dream. In reality, Tony wouldn’t be so kind.

 

A voice in his head chides him because of course Tony would be. Hasn’t Tony always been so kind towards him? When has he ever been otherwise. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of the latter half of his latest dream, recalling how Tony looked underneath him, legs spread, twitching dick spurting pre-come over his own abs, his mouth parted as he brokenly sobs out Steve’s name.

 

Steve comes with a loud groan in his shower.

 

\--

 

If the sex dreams starring Tony were a surprise, the next dream where he and Tony are living in domestic bliss, is completely unexpected.

 

\--

 

“Do you have regrets, Jarvis?” Steve asks as he goes through an old photo album.

 

“I’m as human as they come,” Jarvis answers, placing a delicate tea cup on the coffee table in front of Steve. “I have many regrets.”

 

“What about missed opportunities?” Steve turns the page and feels the ache in his heart deepen at the sight of Tony and him at a baseball game.

 

Hank had given Jan a fancy new camera for her birthday and she’d spent the next month flitting around taking pictures of everyone. Steve remembers the surprise he’d felt when Tony’d draped his arm over Steve’s shoulder and pulled him towards Jan and her camera. In the picture, he’s yanking Tony’s cap over his eyes while Tony lets out a surprised noise. They’d been so close in that moment, close enough for Steve to smell Tony’s cologne and shiver as the bare skin of their arms touched.

 

If only he’d known that such moments were limited...

 

“Missed chances? Do you mean romantically?”

 

Steve nods and turns the page. Jarvis hums as he takes a seat across from him. “I suppose I’ve had my fair share of those. But I try not to think about them. If you keep focusing on your regrets, your present winds up slipping away from you. It sets up an ugly cycle.”

 

That makes sense. Steve’s slow nod of agreement stops halfway as he turns the next page. He stares, stricken at the sight of him and Tony sleeping against each other on a sofa. It’s too close the dream he had last night, where he and Tony had been married and enjoyed a rare weekend alone.

 

Steve _hurts_  as he remembers the rest of the dream and how they had been woken up because someone small, dark haired, and blue eyed had clambered into their laps and demanded their attention because she’d had _the best day!_ at the zoo and she had to tell them about it again. He remembers the way Tony’s eyes had lit up. He remembers the fierce love and pride he’d felt at the sight of that little girl cradled in Tony’s arms. He remembers lying down on a bed that’s far too small for him, holding a copy of _Ferdinand_ up for Tony to read from and their daughter to see.

 

Worst, Steve remembers waking up utterly disoriented from his dream, rolling over as his hand mindlessly searches for Tony and their daughter before he realizes they aren’t real. Just a dream.

 

Steve exhales and tries not to cry again thinking about the what ifs and maybes and if onlys.

 

“Is there something you want to talk about Steve?”

 

Steve wants to tell Jarvis about his dreams, how his brain has been torturing him with memories twisted into opportunities squandered. He wants to tell Jarvis about the life he could have had with Tony if only he hadn’t been so damn blind. If only he’d realized his feelings sooner.

 

But more than that, there’s a question Steve wants to ask Jarvis.

 

Does Jarvis know if Tony loved Steve more than just a friend? Because if _anyone_ had Tony’s confidence, it had to be Jarvis, right?

 

Steve lies, “No,” and takes a sip of his tea.

 

It’s probably better for him if that question goes unanswered.

 

\--

 

It’s with a great deal of trepidation one day that Steve draws Tony with their little girl.

 

He tears the sketch out and throws it into the trashcan well before it’s complete. The act only changes the pain in his chest, deepening it until it makes his bones ache. Steve fishes it out of the bottom of the metal can, carefully smoothes it out, and tucks it back in the small sketchbook that’s rapidly filling up with all sorts of images of Tony.

 

Steve places several SHIELD files on top of the sketchbook and tells himself that’s not a metaphor for anything.

 

\--

 

It’s raining outside. The mission from a few days ago had gone badly. Nine people dead and another eleven in critical condition. Last Steve was told, three more weren’t expected to survive the next 24 hours. Steve sits by Tony’s bedside and feels weighed down by guilt. It’s a day to think about the mistakes he’s made and how if he had the chance, what would he do differently? He ponders on his regrets and realizes, despite everything he’s shared, there’s still something he’s left unsaid to Tony.

 

Steve closes his eyes and exhales. “I’m sorry this happened to you. God, I’m sorry for _so much_. I’m sorry for walking away without listening. I’m sorry for not believing that you were only trying to do whatever you could to save your friends. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I put that damn EMP in your hands. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Osborn hunted you down.”

 

Tears prickle behind his eyelids. Steve swallows and rubs them away with careless fingers. He licks his dry lips. “I hope I can say all of this to you when you wake up. Because that’s the kind of thing you do. You reinvent the rules, you change paradigms. You don’t answer to anyone, not even death. I’ve been jealous of that sometimes - the way you’ve never felt limited by anyone or anything. Except maybe yourself.”

 

“I always felt so inspired by that. Looking at you, at how you lived your life... how you never let any failure keep you down. It gave me so much strength. There were times where I felt that nothing could stop me. It was possible for us to do whatever we wanted. I admired that about you. Some days I envied that. I wished I had the courage to be that brave. To be that self assured. But...I couldn’t.”

 

Steve opens his eyes and stares miserably at Tony’s still form. “It’s the thing I loved the most about you.”

 

His heart races at the admission. His eyes drop to the ground shyly as he continues, “You’ve been important to me from the start. You gave me a  _home_. I owe you so much and I would have done _anything_ for you if you’d asked. But you never did. All you ever asked was for us to be friends and I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world.

 

It was the foundation of my world. Your friendship. Anytime I felt you didn’t trust me… or that I let you down…” Steve needs to pause as several betrayals come to mind. “It hurt. And once that thought came to my mind. I didn’t know how to let it go. I didn’t know what to do to _keep_ your trust. It felt like I wasn’t good enough, I guess, and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

 

He huffs. “I _still_ don’t know how to deal with that. It sounds childish, I know. But I just. Wanted you to see me and love me. The way I love you. The times where you looked at me and gave me your full attention… those were the moments I felt like I could conquer the world. I could do anything if I had you by my side believing in me, in us.”

 

Inhaling and exhaling, Steve looks back at Tony. He stares at the hand resting palm-down on the blankets and can’t help but reach out. He remembers the last time he had Tony’s hand between his and shoves the memory away. Instead, Steve presses his forehead against the back of Tony’s warm hand and whispers, “It never once occurred to me that I loved you. And now, all I can think about are all the wasted chances we had. I keep wishing you’re next to me when I’m out in the field. I want you sitting with me I’m watching TV, pointing out how the science in CSI is stupid and wrong. I want to watch Grey’s Anatomy with you. I want to take you out on so many dates. I want…”

 

He can’t say more. Steve’s throat dries up. Misery has his lips pressing together until a muscle in his jaw aches. With a hard sniff, Steve confesses, “I want to stop dreaming of a life with you and _have_ it.”

 

If this was a movie, this is the part where Tony’d wake up.

 

Steve’d feel Tony’s hand twitch in his own. Or he’d hear Tony say his name. Then Tony’s eyes would open, search the room and find Steve. And he’d smile at Steve…

 

This is _the_ moment, you know?

 

Steve feels like an idiot for getting his hopes up, for thinking that confessing his feelings would pull Tony out of his coma. But Tony sleeps on, no change in his condition.

 

\--

 

He forgot that Tony’s always defying expectations. He forgot that Tony _delights_ in that. The fucking asshole. It annoys Steve as much as it amuses him.

 

\--

 

Steve stares at the completed mission reports and thinks he should go take a shower.

 

There’s grime under his nails and dried blood flaking off his uniform. He scrubs a hand through his hair and scowls when a fine layer of ash dusts a corner of his pristine reports. Unable to stop himself, he presses against the sore spot where a beam had clipped him on the head and exhales at the resultant throb of pain.

 

He needs to clean up and sleep. Put this wretched day behind him. With a deep exhale, Steve pushes himself to his feet and heads over to the shower. He goes through the motions, letting muscle memory take over as he strips, showers, and redresses. He only stops when he stands outside his SHIELD assigned room. He stares at his bed for a long hard minute before deciding he doesn’t need sleep. Not yet.

 

Changing directions, Steve heads to the nearest hanger bay and grabs a flying car. It starts to drizzle when he’s ten minutes away from Tony. By the time Steve’s parked the car and dashed towards the front door, it’s raining cats and dogs. Only when he stands in front of the heavy door does Steve remember he’s forgotten his keys.

 

He knocks on the door and rings the bell until he hears the heavy bolt opening. Steve blinks and raises his hand to shield his eyes when a bright light flashes in his face.

 

“Commander!” the person says, lowering the light. Steve blinks and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the house. Oh. It’s a nurse. Steve doesn’t recognize her. “We didn’t know you were coming.”

 

 _Must be new_ , he thinks wryly to himself. Steve glances into the dark and asks, “Power outage?”

 

“Storm knocked something out,” the woman replies, taking a step back to let Steve in. “Mark went to check on the generator. It should have kicked in as soon as the power went out.”

 

No power? What about all the machines Tony’s hooked up to?

 

Some of his worry must show because the woman smiles. “Don’t worry about Mr. Stark. Everything he’s connected to have their own power sources. They’ll get through the night, no worries.”

 

That’s good to hear. Steve follows the woman down the nearest staircase and the hallway. “What about the monitoring system you guys were using?”

 

“It did go out as soon as the lights went out, but we check on him every thirty minutes.” She shoots him a reassuring smile but all it does is make Steve’s hackles rise. It feels like she’s placating him when all he’s got are legitimate concerns. “There’s been no change in his condition.”

 

Of course not. Steve lets out a disappointed exhale. He turns sharply when he hears a door slamming somewhere.

 

“Brenda? Brenda!” he hears a familiar voice calling out: Mark. “I’m gonna need your help getting the generator going!”

 

The woman, Brenda, sighs as she turns to Steve. “You know the way to Mr. Stark’s room?”

 

As soon as Steve’s nodded, she’s retracing her footsteps while calling out, “I’m coming, Mark. Do you need anything?”

 

“Just bring the flashlight. I can’t see shit outside.”

 

Lightning flashes as soon as Mark says that. Steve can’t help but grin a little when he hears Mark curse. His good humor evaporates the closer he gets to Tony’s room. It feels like he’s doing something clandestine; sneaking into Tony’s room in the dark. It also brings back nostalgic memories of their earlier days, back when they used to live in the mansion. There were many a night where Steve would explore the large estate, wandering through the rooms in the dark, unable to sleep.

 

He’s lost in those memories when he opens the door. It’s why he starts when he sees the dark figure standing in front of the window. He processes several things in a split second: they’re tall, broad shouldered, and probably a threat. It would explain the sudden power outage and the generators not working.

 

Paranoia spins his thoughts out of control even as his body kicks into fight mode.

 

It was a matter of time before someone found out where Tony was. Maybe Osborn sent this guy, wanting to finish was he started. Maybe it’s someone else trying to take advantage that Tony’s in a coma. Where’s Tony though? The machine’s are working but it sounds like they took all the wires off. _Fuck,_ he thinks _. If they did anything to Tony, I’ll never forgive myself._

 

Every angry demand he wants to make rolls off the tip of his tongue and falls face first on the ground when the figure slowly turns to face him.

 

There’s barely any light in the room; just the faint glow coming from the various devices next to the bed. But they’re enough for Steve to recognize Tony.

 

 

This has to be a dream, Steve thinks wildly as they stare each other down. This can’t be real. He’s lying in his bed at SHIELD dreaming this up. Because there’s no way Tony’s awake. There’s no way.  

 

But if he was dreaming, his heart wouldn’t be pounding this hard, right? The hollow feeling in his chest wouldn’t be replaced with this fragile bubble of hope that bursts when Tony rasps, “Steve?”

 

It can’t be and yet, miracle of miracles, _it is_.

 

Steve staggers forward, tears welling up in his eyes as he breathes out, “Tony. You’re awake.”

 

One second he’s standing by the door and the next he’s sweeping Tony’s slight body into his arms. He feels Tony’s surprised wheeze blow past his ear and _that’s_ when the tears fall. Tony’s _alive_!  He’s okay! Steve feels Tony’s warm hands press against his back. Something inside of him starts badly when he realizes that Tony’s shaking.

 

“Steve?” Tony asks, more weakly than before. “Am I dreaming? Or is this another Extremis-induced hallucination?”

 

 _What_? Alarmed, Steve pulls back to look at Tony. “You’re not dreaming. This is real. _I’m_ real. Why would you think I’m not?”

 

“I watched you die. It was my fault.”

 

Oh. _Fuck_.

 

Steve shakes his head, fingers tightening on Tony’s arms. “No. Never! It was Red Skull’s fault. Not yours.”

 

The shocky expression on Tony’s face transforms into something ugly and heartbroken before it crumples. He looks two seconds away from crying; there’re tears gathering in his eyes. Panicking just a little, not wanting to see Tony cry, Steve hurriedly slips a hand under Tony’s elbow and guides him back to the bed. Along the way, he changes the subject.

 

“When did you wake up?  _How_? We - we didn’t think - we tried that reboot process and when it didn’t work we thought you were gone.”

 

He looks away when Tony swipes a hand across one cheek. The hoarseness in Tony’s voice shifts to something more steady now. “I woke up just now. Caused the power surge that took out the generator and lights.”

 

“But... how? I mean...”

 

The bed creaks softly as Tony sits down. Tony looks up at him. Steve feels his knees go weak because jeez. _Jeez_. He’s been looking at Tony for over a decade and his imagination still got the intensity in his gaze wrong. It’s not a twinkle like a star in the night sky; it’s a bonfire you can’t look away from.

 

“Osborne basically outsourced the job of hacking into my brain to HYDRA. They told him they had some way to kickstart Extremis which would repair the damage Osborne had done, and then he could get his hands on the SHRA database.”

 

That raises quite a few questions. Osborne and HYDRA were working together? What kind of technology did HYDRA have that they could fix whatever Skrull virus had deactivated Extremis? How come it took  _this_ long for Tony to wake up? Also, very importantly, how did Tony know all this?

 

Steve tiredly rubs away the headache forming behind his left eye. First things first.

 

“I’m guessing they knew what they were doing if you managed to wake up. But why did it take so long?”

 

Tony taps the side of his head. “Extremis, once it came back online, did a scan to find the virus, quarantined it, did a scan on HYDRA’s patch to make sure there was nothing weird or invasive that could fuck me over, fixed that up to eliminate the backdoor they’d tried to put in, and then got to work rebooting me. It takes a long time to do all that.”

 

“Months?” Steve can’t help but ask just a little skeptically.

 

A faint shadow of a smile pulls Tony’s lips up. “I’ve got a big brain. And I was triple checking _everything_. I didn’t want to leave even a microscopic crack for HYDRA’s slimy tentacles to crawl through. Couldn’t take that risk.”

 

Steve frowns faintly. The way Tony’s explaining this - it sounds like he was _aware_ of what was happening. But… He hadn’t responded to anything.

 

Tony’s rubbing his wrist faintly and saying, “I came up a couple of times but it felt like a dream state. I was aware I was awake but it felt too hard to stay a-”

 

“You _were_ awake, then,” Steve interrupts in a soft murmur. He immediately wants to pore over the SHIELD footage of this room; how is it possible that they missed Tony’s more lucid moments? Didn’t the machines capture anything? This feels li-

 

Wait.

 

Steve feels his blood run cold as he remembers _all_ the conversations that he’s had with Tony while he slept. Cautiously, he looks down at Tony, who is now studiously avoiding Steve’s gaze. He wouldn’t think much of it. But there’s a faint blush spreading over Tony’s cheeks. And then he mutters, “Yeah. I was awake and listening.”

 

For a second, just a second, Steve hopes against hope that Tony’s only talking about the HYDRA parts. He was only lucid for those parts. And that he was actually sleeping _every single time_ Steve visited him but especially his last visit when he’d confessed his feelings.

 

But then Tony peeks up at him, big doe eyes flashing up his way through thick black lashes and Steve frantically wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. It’s cruel of the universe not to answer his plea when Tony whispers, “I heard everything you said to me. Including...”

 

Screw the ground, Steve’s going to make a strategic choice, takes things into his own hand, and beat a tactical retreat. He’s going to jump headfirst out the window. His boots squeak against the floor as he does a hard heel turn. Steve’s already calculating how much force he needs to apply to crack the glass and how fast he needs to run when he feels a sharp tug on his shirt.

 

Freezing, Steve stares down. Tony’s fingers are curled into his white t-shirt. It’s a childish gesture, trying to hold him in place with nothing but two fingers tugging on his shirt.

 

 

“Don’t go,” Tony pleads. “Steve…  _please_ don’t go.”

 

That works more effectively than any restraint anyone has  _ever_ used on him. But he can’t bring himself to turn around to face Tony. The naked plea in Tony’s voice is too… too much. It brings back shattered-glass-sharp memories of their argument in the mansion, when Tony was at the lowest depths of alcoholism.

 

Steve isn’t strong enough. But he _does_ find the courage to let his fingers slip around Tony’s wrist and squeeze. To give reassurance as much as to seek it. A shiver runs down his spice when he feels increased pressure against his side, hears the soft rasp of Tony’s stubbled cheek against his shirt. The rub of it, even through his T-shirt, births a supernova in the pit of his stomach.

 

Tony exhales, creating a soft warm path on the cotton tee that fades in two speedy heartbeats. Steve wishes desperately that he could feel it against his bare skin.

 

“You love me?”

 

 _Why’d he have to ask that like_ that _,_ Steve bemoans internally. In a voice so soft, so wondering? So _hesitant_? Like he can’t believe what he’s asking.

 

He could lie. Lie through his teeth and… and…

 

Tony’s next exhale is too loud in the silence between them. His fingers tighten for a moment before they start to relax. A dozen curses want to bubble out of his mouth because no.  _No_. If Tony lets go... Their future plays out in his mind in the space between his heartbeats. Tony (almost) always follows his lead and he’ll follow it again here. If they don’t have this conversation now, if Steve plays dumb, they’ll _never_ have this conversation again. And the regret will be indescribable.

 

 _Since when have you let a little fear stop you from doing anything_ , Steve sternly tells himself as he braces himself.

 

Courage. Just a little bit of courage. That’s all he needs. He has to dig deep for it.

 

Steve squeezes Tony’s wrist and inhales shakily. He forces his jaw to unlock and his lips to part. “I do.”

 

“Even after-”

 

Steve’s eyes fall shut, regret tinting his answer blue, “I never stopped.”

 

He’s thrown off balance when Tony throws his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls him into a warm, if awkward, hug. Steve staggers back, the backs of his knees banging into Tony’s legs and the hospital bed. He stares down at the dark head buried in his side, the broad shoulders shaking faintly. He presses his hand on top of Tony’s trembling fingertips.

 

He feels half his size when he asks, “You… do you…?”

 

Tony’s face tips up immediately, and the adoration he sees there has Steve feeling 10 feet tall. “Since the day I met you.”

 

 _Fuck_.

 

How can Steve not melt in the face of such devotion? How can he not ache in agony at all their missed chances? No. He can’t think like that. He can’t think in terms of regrets. They need to look towards the future and what they can make of it, _together_.

 

He finds himself turning, facing Tony properly. Steve’s hands push Tony’s hair off his forehead before lowering to cup his cheeks. He strokes the edges of Tony’s shy little smile, the one that he has always tries to hide because it’s a little too honest and a little too goofy. It’s childishly giddy and too endearing for Steve’s fragile heart to take.

 

Exhaling softly, Steve ducks down to press their foreheads together. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

 

“I was too scared,” Tony’s admission is a warm puff of air that he breathes in. His fingers trace straight lines parallel to Steve’s spine. “Never thought you felt the same way.”

 

There’s so many long and tough conversations to be had. So many things that need doing. But the world feels brighter, better, knowing that Tony’s alive and he loves Steve. Steve rubs their noses together slowly, delighting at how the innocent touch sparks color across Tony’s face.

 

Struggling to hold his grin in, Steve drops a kiss on Tony’s forehead. His heart sings  _I found you, I’m going to keep you, I’ll never leave you again so help me._  Steve kisses the top of Tony’s cheek, the edge of his jaw, before finally tilting his head and whispering, “Tony…”

 

Steve breathes in the hushed sound of his own name before finally, finally, _finally_ , pressing their lips together.

 

\--

 

“First mission back, Shellhead,” Steve says as the quinjet doors begin to whine open.

 

Tony turns to look at him. His faceplate is up, showing off his mildly curious expression. Steve knows Tony can’t feel it but he needs the reassurance, so he reaches out to link their fingers together. He feels the armor pulling away until they’re palm to palm.

 

Steve gives Tony’s hand a squeeze. “Excited?”

 

Grinning brilliantly, Tony answers, “Couldn’t have asked for a better mission back. What about you, Winghead? Ready to dive back in?”

 

“With you by my side? Hell yeah,” Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s hand as the doors open fully. He hears Tony’s faceplate clamp shut right as the armor bleeds back into place. 

 

“Together?” Tony’s mechanical voice asks.

 

Steve nods, grinning as Tony matches his running gait, and they jump out of the plane together and into the thick of the fight.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tunglr](http://ironswordandstarshield.tumblr.com) // [Twittah](https://twitter.com/trustissuesinc)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Team Oath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935872) by [tishawish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishawish/pseuds/tishawish)




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